


Edge

by pringlesaremydivision



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-17
Updated: 2003-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-24 02:11:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pringlesaremydivision/pseuds/pringlesaremydivision
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Billy thinks. Probably a bit too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Edge

**Author's Note:**

> Just moving some stuff over from Livejournal.

[one: close to]  
  
"Dom, I don't care how attractive you think you are, no one here would do you," Elijah says with a world-weary tone that suggests this is a conversation that's taken place several times already.  
  
Billy unconsciously - unconsciously, he tells himself with resolve; a small voice in the back of his mind says that if he tells himself he's doing something unconsciously it makes it a conscious effort, but he disregards it because that says all sorts of things that he doesn't really want to address right here, right now, thanks very much - Billy unconsciously switches back to listening to the conversation at the table instead of the football match on the television; just as unconsciously he avoids Dom's eyes and fiddles with the pile of napkins in front of him.   
  
Billy thinks: don't even care what you're talking about, nope, not at all. Because, of course, he doesn't. Why would he? (Why would you in _deed_ , The Voice snickers, but Billy ignores that too, for the most part, anyway.)  
  
Dominic snorts. "Don't _lie_ , Elijah. You would. Orli would." He flicks his eyes across the table. "I know Billy'd love to fuck me, wouldn't you, Bills?"  
  
Out of the corner of his eye he sees Dom grin at him, and Billy thinks: wanker. Billy thinks: arrogant prick. Billy thinks: sex -  
  
wait.  
  
Wait, no.  
  
Wait, no, not sex. Not sex...socks?  
  
Yeah, socks. Because socks are boring and not at all attractive, just like Dominic. In fact, Billy thinks he may just start calling Dominic sex.  
  
No! Socks. Socks, not sex. Footwear, dull footwear, sort of clings to you, all warm and snug and comforting -   
  
um, maybe relating Dom to socks isn't the best analogy either. Billy thinks he's never fully realized how much he likes socks, and he most definitely doesn't like Dom like he likes socks. (You're a fucking nutter, The Voice informs him, and secretly he sort of agrees, but he certainly doesn't tell The Voice that.)  
  
Billy runs through all the adjectives he's ever used to describe Dom - infuriating, irritating, too cheeky for his own good, short (taller than you, The Voice pipes up, and Billy has half a mind to jab a toothpick in his ear to see if that shuts it up, but thinks that maybe everyone would look at him strangely if he were to), twitchy, hyperactive, bloody fucking sexy -   
  
no, wait, stop the train, hang on _just_ a second.  
  
Billy thinks he should, really, give Dom what for, tell him all the reasons - and there are a load of them, honestly, it would take him the whole evening just to list half of them - why, exactly, he _doesn't_ , no way, not in this lifetime, want to fuck him.  
  
Because Dom is his mate, because Dom is his co-worker, because Dom is _male_ , unmistakably male, with those broad shoulders and that thick, sinewy neck, and those hands, those large, strong hands that make his look tiny and ultra-feminine by comparison, those hands that Billy would love to feel on -   
  
_wait_.  
  
(Ha!, The Voice laughs. There you are, figured it out, then, did you? Figured it out, you daft cunt?)  
  
Shut _up_ , Billy tells it with venom, shut _up_ , that was just the whiskey talking (and never mind the fact that he hasn't had any whiskey tonight, just beer, and just one at that, because he drew the short straw and is the designated driver this time around and anyway the beer is shit; never mind that, it's irrelevant).  
  
Shit, Billy thinks, and chances looking up, only to find Elijah looking at him with a half-puzzled, half-expectant look on his face, and Dominic still sitting there, smiling - not smiling, _smirking_ at him (cheeky _bastard_ , Billy thinks, cheeky arrogant son of a _bitch_ ); a wicked glint appears in his eyes and he snakes his tongue out, tongue stained blue by whatever ridiculous drink he's just drained, snakes his tongue out and licks his lips, slow, smooth and deliberate.  
  
Fuck, Billy thinks as a slow shudder runs through him, starts in his shoulders and sort of makes its way down his spine to settle somewhere in his groin, _fuck_ , because he knows Dom knows exactly where his eyes were focused. and then, again: _fuck_ , because his eyes shouldn't have been focused there in the first place, and even if they were, that _certainly_ shouldn't have been his reaction.  
  
He slams his head down - _ow_ , jesus, tables should be cushioned, he thinks with a groan - and -  
  
and oh, damn it all to hell if that doesn't answer Dom as clearly as a 'yes' would've.  
  
The sound of Dominic's laughter, bright and mocking, filled with 'I told you so's, rings loudly in his ears.  
  


______________________

  
  
[two: looking down]  
  
"Ugh," Dominic says, running his hands through his hair, "I am so fucking hot."  
  
"How -" Billy begins.  
  
"Warm, mate," Dom responds with a wink (and god, Billy thinks, people look stupid when they wink, no one in the history of the world has ever made winking attractive, so why, exactly, do the hairs on the back of his neck prickle when Dom does it?), "not, like, sexy."  
  
Billy shoots a glare at him. "Wasn't finished," he says archly, ignoring The Voice that cackles 'he's that too'.  
  
"Oh?" and this with a cocked eyebrow, which, Billy's sure, is the second-most ridiculous-looking thing in the world, and which certainly doesn't make him want to, say, jump Dominic, not even a little bit, not at all. (Everything makes you want to jump Dominic, The Voice retorts, and Billy wonders if there's anywhere that does surgery for things like this, emergency voice removal or some such, wonders how much it would cost to get his - constant and exceptionally and in all cases wrong - internal monologue removed.)  
  
"No. I was _going_ to ask you how you could possibly be hot; it's a bloody icebox in here." He punctuates this with a shiver to emphasize his point.  
  
"Hmm," Dominic murmurs, contemplating this for a moment. "Maybe I have a fever?"  
  
"Maybe," Billy agrees. There is a pause, in which Dom blinks at him several times in rapid succession. "What do you want me to do about it, then?"  
  
"Well," Dom adopts a pitiful tone, a pleading tone, and Billy thinks: oh, this can't be good, "you could _check_ and make sure."  
  
Oh, Billy thinks, okay then, just a quick hand-to-forehead contact, nothing can go wrong there.  
  
But Dominic grabs his hand in mid-air and stops him; clearly he's underestimated Dom's ability to make nothing simple.  
  
"That's not the right way to check for a fever," he informs Billy, as though this is the most obvious piece of information in the world and Billy is just a complete _idiot_ for not knowing. (Cheers, Billy thinks angrily, so glad you think so little of my intelligence.)  
  
"Oh no?"  
  
"Uh-uh."  
  
"Well, then, how -" his voice dies away as Dom leans forwards and presses his lips against Billy's forehead, soft and warm, and _huh_ , that was unexpected.  
  
"Wh-" he stops, clears his throat, and starts again, "what was that?"  
  
"How you check for a fever," Dominic responds, looking at him like 'for christ's _sake_ , Billy, get _with_ it', but Billy thinks he has every right, thanks, to be the slightest bit _out_ of it just now.  
  
"Oh."  
  
(The Voice hasn't said anything for a while and Billy's surprised, until he realizes that it's grown feet and is now doing a gleeful tap dance on his brain, and he'd like to tell it that that was _nothing_ , that didn't mean _anything_ , but he can't quite get his mind to function and anyway he doesn't think it'd really do any good, because The Voice is one stubborn fucker.)  
  
"So?"  
  
"So?" He echoes; repetition seems the best course of action because he's lost track of what's going on, and surely a quick, chaste press of lips (lips that he doesn't even _like_ , he reminds himself fervently, lips that he's _certainly_ never fantasized kissing) to his forehead, which is decidedly _not_ an erogenous zone; surely that shouldn't have this much of an effect on him?  
  
"So c'mere and tell me if I have a fever, because I'd really like to take something if I do and _not_ have Peter yelling at me for getting sick," Dominic answers.  
  
Um, Billy thinks nervously, and then: _fuck_ , man, what are you, thirteen again? Are you thirteen and a _girl_ besides?  
  
And then: um, okay, and he closes the gap (tiny gap, they've been sharing breathing space for the past minute and a half, and somehow Billy's really, really just fine with that) between them (ignoring, as per usual, The Voice, which is at the moment screaming the mouth, go for the mouth!) and lets his lips rest gently on Dom's forehead, barely there for a second, then with just a touch more pressure - all in the name of health, of course, not because this feels _right_ , not because what he'd really like to do is curl his hands around the back of Dominic's neck and press tiny kisses all over his face, not that, not at all.  
  
Satisfied that he's taken Dom's temperature to the best of his earthly ability Billy forces himself away and steps back, snapping back to reality, or whatever is passing as reality now, and finds Dom looking at him with an odd expression on his face, one that Billy can't quite read; one he'd really, really like to.  
  
"Yeah," he says, nodding authoritatively, marvelling at how steady his voice is (not that there's any reason it shouldn't be, he tells himself), "yeah, you do feel a bit warm."  
  
And as Dom claps him on the shoulder and thanks him, muttering something about resting up tonight, Billy thinks 'a bit warm' is an understatement, because his lips feel like they're on fire.  
  
  


______________________

  
  
[three: over]  
  
"Billy!" Dom yells, walking - well, if Billy were being completely honest he'd say it was more of a _saunter_ , a look-at-me _swagger_ , but he's not, because he hasn't noticed the way Dom moves, not at all, so walking it is - over to where Billy sits, drink in hand, staring at a spot somewhere above the television.  
  
" 'm right here, Dom, no need to break my eardrums," he answers -  
  
at which point Dominic sort of stumbles, tripping over his own feet, and lands on his knees on the floor in front of Billy. _Right_ in front of him. _Right_ Dom on his knees on the floor between Billy's legs mouth open _in front of him_.   
  
Er, Billy thinks wildly. Er, heh, _shit_.  
  
But Dom just grins up at him, placing one hand on Billy's knee, and pushes himself up - crisis averted, Billy thinks with relief (to which The Voice responds: crisis? Like hell.) -  
  
and says "Dance with me, Billy!"  
  
Aversion averted. Damn.  
  
"Orlando's no good anymore?" Billy asks.  
  
"He left," Dom replies, and now that he mentions it, the house _has_ seemed rather more quiet for a while now.  
  
"Go get Lij to dance with you," Billy retorts, and thinks: no way I'm dancing with you, Monaghan, not for anything in the world, not here, not now.  
  
(And why, The Voice asks, in the tone of voice that says 'I'm being facetious and you know that', why is _here_ and _now_ so different from any other place and time? It's not, after all, as though you have anything to _worry_ about. It's not as though you _fancy_ the guy or anything.  
  
And Billy agrees, ignoring the tone completely, but still, still he doesn't want to dance. He's tired and the couch is soft and -  
  
mmhmm, The Voice replies, yeah, you're not even fooling yourself now.)  
  
"Lij," Dominic answers, waving his hand behind him, presumably to indicate Elijah's location, "is off somewhere with Astin." He waggles his eyebrows. "Doing the _mambo_."  
  
Billy rolls his eyes and tries hard not to think about Sean and Elijah doing anything of the sort, but only because it's _Sean_ and it's _Elijah_ , not because it gives him ideas. Or anything like that. "And how old are you, Dominic?"  
  
"Younger than you, old man," Dominic responds with a smirk. "Now get up off your lazy arse and dance with me!"  
  
"You're drunk," Billy says, grasping desperately for straws. "You'd probably puke all over me."  
  
"I would _not_ ," Dom says, a pout forming. "I can hold my liquor. I'm not Elijah."  
  
Billy thinks: good point. And then: damn it.  
  
"Just," and Dominic's expression shifts from playful to earnest and - _shy_?, Billy thinks, but that can't be it, that doesn't make any sense - "just dance with me, yeah?" he finishes, holding his out hand.  
  
Billy sighs, shakes his head resignedly, takes the proffered hand, pulls himself up -  
  
and finds himself being propelled forward into a loose embrace, Dom's hands on his hips, and there's nowhere for his arms to go but around Dom's neck, and: hmm, Billy thinks, this is odd, because Madonna's on the stereo and this is decidedly _not_ the way you dance to Madonna, but it's sort of alright anyway, kind of, a little - okay, more than a little.  
  
Dominic unceremoniously drops his head to Billy's shoulder, and Billy thinks: this should be much, much more awkward than it is. Billy thinks: hey, we're just _here_ , just us, where has everyone else gone, then? (And The Voice reminds him: mambo. Ta, Billy tells it with an alarming lack of sarcasm.) Billy thinks: Dominic, m'lad, your hands are perilously close to my arse.  
  
And then Dom sort of runs one hand up and down Billy's spine, very casual-like, before letting it rest on the small of his back at the same time his other arm tightens around Billy's waist, and -  
  
and Billy gives up.  
  
Billy gives up:  
  
and pulls Dom just a little bit closer, twines his fingers loosely in the tufts of hair that kick out at the base of his neck, feathersoft compared to the hair at the top of his head, which is stiff with dried gel;  
  
and sort of nuzzles his head into the crook of Dominic's neck, breathing in the scent of the cool damp skin there, a mix of day-old cologne and glue - always glue, the smell of glue will cling to them for years, Billy's sure - and sweat - but not the unpleasant, flabby-construction-worker-on-a-hot-day type sweat, just the normal, everyday, 'I've been dancing what do you expect?' sort of sweat;  
  
and places the tiniest of kisses just underneath Dom's ear, just a slight brush of lips, barely making contact with Dom's skin.  
  
Because - and this brings about a pang of regret that Billy doesn't really want to analyze right now, and he's too far gone to fight it anyway - because he can; because Dom won't remember in the morning anyway.  
  
He wonders as they sway, locked together in a dance that doesn't fit the music, if Dominic can feel him sigh.  
  


______________________

  
  
[four: parachute]  
  
"I'm exhausted," Sean announces, stretching his arms over his head. He looks sideways at Elijah, and, says, around a yawn: "Think I'm gonna be heading home."  
  
"See you tomorrow, then," Elijah says, and takes another pull on his bottle of beer.  
  
Sean coughs and kicks Elijah's chair. "Drive me home, yeah?"  
  
Elijah blinks at him for a moment before it registers, and then: "Oh! Sure, yeah," he splutters, downing the last of his beer frantically, and Billy can see Dominic fighting the urge to laugh, "yeah. I'm, uh, pretty tired myself anyway. Long day, and all that."  
  
He stands, grabs his keys in one hand and Sean's hand in the other, says, "See you guys tomorrow," then races out the door without waiting for a reply.  
  
Mambo, Billy thinks, then: heh, yeah.  
  
And then: wait, no. Not _yeah_ , because _yeah_ implies desire, implies that Billy'd like to do a little bit of mambo-ing himself, and: nope, nuh-uh, don't want _any_ part of that.  
  
(What about the other night?, The Voice asks. Certainly looked like you wanted a part of that then.  
  
The other night, Billy tells it, was a fluke, a one-off, a result of proximity and alcohol; that it could happen to anyone, that it didn't mean anything; that no sleep was lost, say, replaying it over and over in his mind and changing little details - like kissing Dominic properly, for one.  
  
Denial's not just a river in Egypt, The Voice informs him, and Billy wonders why he's gotten stuck with a subconscious that has a seventy-five-year-old sense of humor.)  
  
"That," says Dom, between giggles, "was pathetic."  
  
Billy nods. "Boy couldn't see a pick-up line if it hit him over the head."  
  
"Very true," Dominic agrees. "Can I stay the night?"  
  
"Uh," Billy says, thrown off course, "why?"  
  
Dom shrugs. "Dunno. Don't feel like going home."  
  
"Er," he begins.  
  
(You're as bad as Elijah, The Voice mutters.  
  
No, Billy says, Elijah is - oh. Oh, you think that was a come-on?  
  
 _Duh_.  
  
This is Dominic, he tells it; Dominic, remember?  
  
That's the _point_ , The Voice says scornfully.)  
  
"Billy?" Dominic asks, snapping him out of his reverie.  
  
"Oh. Yeah, sure. You can," he waves his arm in the direction of the living room, "sleep on the couch, I'll get some blankets..."  
  
"Great. Hey, um, listen, the other night -"  
  
"Dommie, I'm really tired, I'm just going to turn in, I'll see you in the morning," Billy says in a rush, striding into his bedroom and shutting the door.  
  
 _Shit_ , he thinks, heart pounding, shit, he remembers. (You _wanted_ him to, The Voice reminds him.)  
  
From the other side of the door comes Dominic's voice, soft and hesitant: "Um, blankets?"  
  
Inhale: "In the hall closet." Exhale.  
  
"Okay." A pause. "Night, Bill."  
  
Inhale: "Night, Dom." Exhale.  
  


\---

  
  
He manages to fall into a fitful, restless sleep, punctuated by dream after dream after dream, none of which make any sense, all of which, incidentally, funnily enough, feature Dominic, and hey-isn't-that-ironic, he thinks the third or fourth time he wakes up.  
  
And then, just when he's finally tossed and turned enough to really tire himself out, just when he falls into something resembling actual _sleep_ , sleep that doesn't make you more tired afterwards than you were beforehand -  
  
he's awoken yet again, this time by something - some _one_ , The Voice corrects; some _one_ , ha - burrowing into his side, just sort of snuggling its - _his_ \- way in and making himself comfortable.  
  
What the hell, Billy thinks, what the _bloody fucking_ hell?  
  
And then: oh. 'S Dom.  
  
And then: what the hell?  
  
"Sorry," Dominic mumbles sleepily, throwing one arm around Billy's waist (and _um_ , Billy thinks, and then: well, okay), "got cold."  
  
Billy blinks.  
  
"You could've," he manages after a pause, "just turned the air off."  
  
"Mmm," Dom answers, "could've."  
  
" _But_...?" Billy prompts, after it's apparent that Dom's not going to elaborate on his own.  
  
"Nicer like this, innit?"  
  
And Billy thinks: _well_.   
  
"Um," he starts, but then Dominic raises his head and looks at him with drowsy grey eyes, and he loses track of what he had planned on saying.  
  
And then Dom props himself up on his elbow ( _oh_ , Billy thinks, then:) and studies him intently for a moment (the fuck?; and:) before dipping his head down and placing his lips ( _oh_ again) ever-so-softly on the spot just beneath Billy's ear.  
  
"For the other night," he murmurs, and the vibrations from his lips send shivers shooting down Billy's back.  
  
Billy thinks: _oh_ again, and then: jesus, that was nice, do it again, then: wait, no, it's _Dom_ , and -  
  
"Billy, just...shut up, yeah?"  
  
Er, Billy thinks, what?  
  
"I haven't said anything," he answers, brow creasing.  
  
"No, I know," Dominic says. "I mean in here," and he taps Billy's head gently.  
  
And then Dom's lips are on his and as his hands come up to curl around Dominic's neck, Billy thinks: yeah.  
  
Billy thinks: yeah, okay.


End file.
